The golden morning light pouring through the enchanted windows of the Great Hall seemed to sparkle a little brighter after Sebastian's declaration. Harry sat frozen, his fork halfway to his mouth, trying to process the fact that his "dark curse" had just been rebranded as a lucrative corporate asset.
"No, Harry," Sebastian said, a playful glint in his eyes as he shook his head slowly. "I have no personal desire to spend my evenings learning to hiss. My schedule is quite full enough without adding a reptilian dialect to the mix."
Harry's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "But... I thought you said you wanted it? You said we had business to discuss."
"Patience, Harry. In business, as in alchemy, timing and application are everything."
Sebastian stood up fully now, his presence commanding the attention of every student in the hall. Even the ghosts had drifted closer, hovering near the rafters to hear the conversation. He turned his gaze toward the sea of young faces, many of whom were still wearing expressions of lingering suspicion.
"Those of you currently enrolled in Care of Magical Creatures are well aware of the primary barrier to advancement in that field," Sebastian said, his voice resonant and steady. "Communication. It has always been the ultimate wall. To truly understand a creature, you must be able to speak its heart. Our esteemed Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, is a master of this—he speaks Mermish and Gobbledegook as fluently as we speak English. Even the great Newt Scamander has dedicated his life to bridging that gap."
He paused, letting the weight of those names sink in.
"However," Sebastian continued, his tone shifting to something more professional, "there are only so many polyglots in the world. To solve this, Swan Alchemy has established a specialized research and development division. We are currently in the prototyping phase of a line of alchemical 'Translators'—artifacts designed to allow any witch or wizard to communicate with specific species."
A ripple of excited whispers broke out. The idea of a universal translator was the stuff of legend.
"I have already secured the consulting services of Mr. Scamander for many of the forest-dwelling species," Sebastian noted, "but unfortunately, Newt—bless his soul—cannot speak to serpents. And that is where you come in, Harry."
Harry blinked. "Me? You want me to... talk to a machine?"
"I want you to provide the linguistic foundation," Sebastian clarified, leaning back against the table. "Think of the Runespoor, the Horned Serpent, or the Occamy. These are majestic, powerful creatures, but they are notoriously temperamental. Every year, countless breeders and researchers are hospitalized—or worse—because they misinterpreted a warning hiss. Your talent, Harry, is the key to preventing those tragedies."
He looked Harry straight in the eye, his expression turning serious. "Because Parseltongue is so exceedingly rare, I am offering you more than just a consultant's fee. I am offering you a 'Talent-Equity' partnership. You provide the language support, and in return, you receive a permanent share of the profits for every Serpent-Translator sold worldwide."
The Great Hall went from silent to a deafening roar of conversation in a split second.
"Shares?" Ron choked out, his eyes bulging. "Harry... do you have any idea how many people would buy a snake-talker just for the fun of it? You're going to be richer than the Malfoys!"
Harry felt a strange, dizzying sensation. Only twelve hours ago, he had been convinced he would be expelled and branded a Dark Wizard. Now, he was being offered a seat on the board of an alchemical empire.
"Are you willing, Harry?" Sebastian asked, a small smile playing on his lips. "Will you help us turn a 'dark' legacy into a tool for safety and progress?"
"Willing?" Harry managed to squeak out, before regaining his voice. "Yes! Absolutely! I'll do it!"
He would have done it for free just to stop the glares, but the idea of turning his Parseltongue into something that actually helped people—and made him financially independent of the Dursleys forever—was almost too good to be true.
The atmosphere in the hall shifted violently from fear to pure, unadulterated envy. The Slytherins looked stunned, while the Gryffindors were suddenly leaning back toward Harry, trying to catch his eye as if they hadn't spent the last hour treating him like a leper.
"I can't believe it," Seamus Finnigan muttered, staring at his porridge. "One day he's a monster, the next day he's a business tycoon. Why can't I talk to snakes?"
"You can blow things up, Seamus!" a third-year girl shouted. "Maybe Swan Alchemy needs a demolition expert!"
This triggered a landslide of questions. Dozens of students scrambled out of their seats, surrounding Sebastian and Harry, their previous terror completely forgotten in the face of potential fame and fortune.
"Professor Swan! Look at me! What's my talent?"
"Can you test my bloodline, Professor? I think my great-aunt was a Seer!"
"Do you need anyone who's really good at Charms? I can do a perfect Levitation!"
Sebastian laughed, raising his hands to ward off the throng of eager students. "Quiet, quiet! Please! I am an alchemist, not a fortune teller. There is no simple 'test' for magical talent. It isn't a spell you cast; it's a part of who you are."
He sat back down next to Harry, looking at the expectant faces. "If you want to find your talent, start by looking at what comes naturally to you. If you are a wizarding family, look at your history. Talents like Parseltongue or Metamorphmagi are often hereditary. If you are Muggle-born, look at your 'accidental' magic from before you got your wand. What happened when you were angry? What happened when you were scared?"
He gestured toward Seamus again. "Mr. Finnigan didn't study to be an expert in explosions. His magic simply wants to expand. That is his affinity. Once you find that affinity, you can sharpen it into a tool. And who knows? Perhaps one day, I'll be sitting at your table offering you a contract as well."
The buzz of excitement was electric. For the rest of the day, the "Heir of Slytherin" was a dead topic. All anyone wanted to talk about was "Talent Discovery." Students were seen in the corridors trying to perform magic without wands, trying to talk to the school owls, and even poking at the suits of armor to see if they had a talent for "Metal Manipulation."
In the Potion's classroom, Severus Snape watched a group of Hufflepuffs actually focusing on their brewing, their eyes bright with the hope that they might have a "Chemical Affinity." He felt a rare sense of peace. Sebastian had done it. He had taken a piece of terrifying darkness and turned it into a shiny gold coin.
Snape glanced at the door, seeing the shadow of a smile disappear as he turned back to his cauldron. He had a meeting with Damocles soon to discuss the Wolfsbane Potion, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel the weight of Harry's safety pressing down on him.
However, not everyone was celebrating.
Deep within the castle, in a place where the sunlight never reached, a cold, ancient fury was brewing. The diary sat on a stone floor, its pages fluttering in a wind that didn't exist.
The plan had been perfect. The Savior was supposed to be the pariah. The school was supposed to be divided by fear and blood. But a "Powerful Wizard"—a man whose name the diary didn't recognize—had stepped in and ruined the narrative.
He had turned the Heir's birthright into a business support role. He had turned Salazar Slytherin's legendary mark into a "language support support team."
The rage was palpable. It felt like a physical pressure in the air. The "Special Existence" inside the diary didn't care about Galleons. It didn't care about alchemical tools. It cared about legacy, blood, and terror.
The ink on the pages began to swirl, forming words that glowed with a sickly, rhythmic light.
If they no longer fear the voice... the diary seemed to whisper to the darkness, ...then they must fear the fangs. The games are over. It is time for a real masterpiece.
The castle remained lively and full of dreams of wealth throughout the evening, but in the damp corridors near the girl's bathroom on the second floor, the water began to rise. The "consensus" of the students meant nothing to the monster in the walls. And the monster was very, very hungry.